


Breathe Me

by DemonDeepFried



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Baby, Baby Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, SIDS, Sad Sherlock, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonDeepFried/pseuds/DemonDeepFried
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and you have been married for little over a year and after so long of trying, you finally have the baby girl you’ve so long wished for. But everything inside you crumbles when you find her, still and unbreathing on one traumatic morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Me

Your husband, Sherlock, and you were finally parents. After a long and arduous pregnancy- one that the two of you had waited so long for- you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

Hope.

It had been your mother’s name and it would be your daughter’s name. Because when she came into the world to you and the famed detective, that’s exactly what she was. To the both of you, she was a glimmering ray of hope in the shadowy world of your dangerous lives.

Sherlock had checked every child caring book in the library out and forced Mary, John and you to read them- after having read every single copy himself! Mary and John found Sherlock’s panicking amusing, reminding him that they would help you both through the infancy. For that, you couldn’t thank them enough.

While it was the five of you in 221B Baker Street, it was like a small family. Something you always dreamt of. Mary and John played Auntie and Uncle to Hope and offered to babysit whenever you and Sherlock needed some rest. Mrs Hudson kept you well-supplied with nappies, baby wipes, food and experienced advice- always fussing over you like a mother should.

And Sherlock, well Sherlock just couldn’t get enough of his daughter. He read to her day and night- generally the science of crime reports (against your better judgement)- and loved her just like a dad should.

Shed a tear, did the uncharacteristically emotional man by your side that day, clutching your hand. When she was lifted into your arms, you looked back up at Sherlock- gazing into his steely blue eyes- and saw all the love he had for you and your daughter in those swirling irises.

'She’s so beautiful,’ he’d managed to choke out, forcing a smile as tears of happiness trickled down his cheeks.

And she was.

A _beautiful_ ray of _Hope_.

Until the day you found her in her cot, not breathing.

 _“Sherlock!” you screamed, picking her up gently and trying to wake her. “Hope, come on, girl, wake up for me, please._ Sherlock _!”_

_“Y/N?” he frowned, stumbling into the nursery, “What is it?”_

_Turning to him, he caught sight of the small baby in your arms._

_Too small._

_Too blue._

_Too still._

_He told you firmly to stay there and do all you could to wake her up, while he raced down the stairs to phone an ambulance._

_With a gasping sob, you collapsed down onto the floor clutching your baby girl to your chest and whispered between shaking breaths, “Hope, please, baby, wake up. You have to wake up, Hope. Breathe, just take one breath. Don’t leave me.”_

_**Please**._

* * *

-SIDS, generally rare in the UK but it can affect one in 300 babies-

-more common in baby boys, but not rare for girls-

-can affect babies who were born prematurely or underweight, if they were exposed to alcohol or tobacco smoke-

**_Please, just stop._ **

It doesn’t make the pain go away to know how it happened.

Or why it happened.

Or how you could have prevented it.

The pain never goes away.

Not really.

* * *

“I lost my baby girl,” you whispered to yourself. The words weren’t supposed to be said aloud but you didn’t much care anymore. Standing in the hospital, talking to a doctor, just reminded you of the last time you were in there.

The last time had given life.

The second hadn’t.

Sherlock wrapped his arm tighter around you. “Y/N,” he mumbled into your hair, dismissing the doctor with a terse nod. He didn’t have anything else to say.

What could he say?

_It couldn’t have been prevented?_

_We couldn’t have known?_

_It’s not your fault?_

**_You just_ hurt _so, so much._**

* * *

John and Mary were there for you and Sherlock. They always promised to be, and they kept their word. Not once did they leave your side and you would be forever grateful.

Mary introduced you to the way sport and yoga can help you ease your mind. With her you ran every morning, practised yoga every Saturday and went down to the gym on Wednesday and Friday nights.

John took you down to the shooting range, to blow off some steam. He showed you how to hold and fire the gun, and soon you were hitting dead-centre every time.

Mrs Hudson taught you to cook and instead of burying yourself in a numb world separate from the real one, you busied yourself in baking. By the end of the month, you had contributed to three charity bake sales.

Sherlock was just as depressed as you were, struck with the blow of Hope’s death. But together, you clawed your way through two years without your baby girl.

You noticed that you were smiling again and Sherlock was too.

 

Maybe you would never truly fill that hole in your hearts, but maybe it could be honoured instead of mourned.

Because, after all, you simply had to carry on with your lives.

Especially seeing as soon, you would be caring for another’s…

 

**_Positive._ **

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt I received on Tumblr; having researched SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome,) I can tell you that- while uncommon- this is a problem that around one in every 300 babies will suffer. I wanted to raise some awareness so I posted it on here, and I hope you all consider the possibilities, the precautions and the sympathy- for families who have had to go through this.


End file.
